existential

I don't know much about life after death but I may believe in life after life.
*****
what do you see when you look at yourself? do you know that person well? can you look them in the eyes? who looks back?
*****
I used to turn myself around and around, in front of a mirror, trying to understand.
My mother hinted that I may be vain....a mortal sin. What I could not explain to her, in my child's voice, was my curiosity as to who I was. This shell that I inhabit must be very different from the last. Who grows up thinking that they have been placed inside the wrong body? Who physically feels their eyes becoming windows....not made of glass but a set fashioned from thin sheets of Muscovite; ancient and milky?
*****
A friend and I have shared the same dreams. Not a hypothetical dream for the future or the ephemeral dream to someday be a writer (although we do dream that dream together)  but the dreams of the unconscious soul. Dreams of lilacs blossoms blowing on the breeze, dreams of dead friends, dreams of the divine. He once explained to me that he can no longer meditate because he is afraid of what he will find. He has found the way....the tunnel that leads to light. He found the way and the one on the other side shot out of the darkness and delivered a hard right hooked punch to his gut. He will not meditate now; the pain was too real.
Many of us have found this place and are afraid to enter. We are not taught to know what to do when we arrive and so we flee. But we are drawn here, over and over, to stand at the gate and to let the wind howl past. The buzzing and crackle and the alignment of neural energy....if you have been here you may know how startling this discovery can be.
*****
I do not believe in who I am...Meaning, I do not believe that this is all I am meant to be. I have been more and I have been less. I have purpose and with luck, my life will have meaning to others. After I pass, I may return as a swallow, another woman, a man, or your cat. I may be the ant who is tortured by children or the peasant who is tortured by circumstance.
I will not return as a demon....one of the unconscionable souls tending the alter of economy, persecution and power. Hell is very real but its dimension exists now. Demons exist but they wear the skins of sharks and prey upon the poor. Damnation is often a choice.
*****
Are we animal or are we human? Do you know the difference? Lost Souls, you are not lost. You have only forgotten the way. The path is laid out before you, now walk forth and exist.

summer skin

I stand naked before the mirror and admire the return of my summer skin;
pale pink above my breasts and bronze in over lapping layers of straps and sleeves. Muscles form and re-form in a progression down the length of my arms.
The silt washes off in a torrent of mud mixed with the sweet scent of soap;
my hair once again bright as the moon; casting off the dullness of the day in its many layers of sweat, grime and sunshine.
My toes will not be clean again until the leaves fall from the trees in their cascade of relief and exhaustion, as summer wanes and autumn embraces us with darkness.
Next to the sink, I study the black of my hat. Its surface a rainbow of textures;  an oil soaked and sleek band fades into bleached and brittle edges. A history and a reflection of my unconscious habit of removing it and reapplying it over and over as I struggle to shield my eyes from the light....my fingerprints are nearly visible on the brim. Like my toes, my fingers will bear the burden of the season; rough and frayed corners, calluses, and healed-over blisters.
From head to toe, I am amused by my appearance and I contemplate Pearl S. Buck's The Good Earth. I remember my mother, grandmothers, great-grand mothers. I look into my own eyes and see eternity laid out before me.
I am the one that arrives with dirt in the cuffs, spots, stains and small tears.I am a woman of beauty; a creature of struggle, persistence and undying optimism. I am the light that is not seen and only felt. I am starlight and madness. I am the womb of creation. I am all of these things. I am dust.

social anorexia

Writing this is difficult for me. The idea of how to explain my sketchy social behavior leaves my mouth dry and my head pounding. I will begin by saying that I am always filled with envy when meeting people who are actually good at consummating friendships and are comfortable with being overtly extroverted. It seems like most of the world has this skill dialed. I am pretty sure most people even enjoy themselves when they are with a large group of friends. And I can't help but wonder what is wrong with me.
Sometimes I feel like a social anorexic; denying myself the food of deep friendships, all the while slowly wasting away into a ghost or shadow of myself....someone easily looked through or seldom considered as an individual fit to be a good friend. And honestly, it is a symptom of my own choices. At some point, people get tired of inviting someone who never shows up or when they do show up, they are awkward, introspective and just plain weird. I have watched happy people become uncomfortably silent in my presence. And thus, the awkwardness between us grows and the intensity of my social discomfort only increases. I feel the need to run away, leave the scene or to find a chair in a dim corner and wait to go home.
And I will admit to bailing on more than one occasion when the pressure of just showing up to a party or event felt overwhelming and frightening. I have any number of default excuses that keep me from participating in large (or small) gatherings and I try and rotate through them; never giving the same excuse to the same person more than once in a row. And even as the excuses come tumbling out of my mouth, inside my head I am screaming to myself. Because more than anything, I want to be among you, I just don't know how to do it.

As it is with most people, personal baggage can be hard to identify and can take years of hard work to rectify. I have tried to pinpoint exactly when I developed such a friendship phobia (I don't have a people phobia; I love people) and it seems to have started in grade school and continued all the way through high school. Constant shunning by individuals I identified as 'good friends' and even some of my favorite family members, led me to build a wall around the softest parts of my heart. For the sake of self preservation I began to keep friends at arms length in anticipation of the eventual pain that comes with the dissolution of a friendship.
When I finally made my way to college my relationships became more genuine, stable and real. And although the wall was still there, I built a sturdy door with a solid lock and started handing out copies of the key to a couple of my favorite people. The door can still be barred from the inside, so even with a key, admittance is not guaranteed. I have heard the term 'social anxiety' and I suppose that applies to me. And although many people I know would describe me as extroverted (I interact openly with strangers, just not friends), the core of my being still houses a huddled and scared introvert.
But what I am really hoping to explain is that I understand that this is all on me; not on you, my friends. In fact, I love most of you more than you love me (certainly). I peek out of the curtains of my world into the great vista of yours and am satisfied with waving to you as you pass by. And honestly, I am content if you just wave back. If you are walking alone, I may even get over my fear enough to open the door and ask you if you want to come in. If you are traveling with a group, I will probably keep the door locked and I might even step away from the window and watch unnoticed through the gauze of the curtains. Some days, if I am feeling particularly safe, I might come outside and ask if it is okay to walk with you. And, mostly on those days, I am hoping  that you will smile, take my hand and lead the way. Because I don't know how to lead this dance anymore, although I am willing to learn the steps.

A Cog; Defined

a cog defined: a cog engages with another cog and the motion in one will result in motion of the other. Gearwheels that engage with chains are sprockets, not cogs.

So my friend, you say you are a cog, a small insignificant cog?  I know you are more than this. I have seen what you can do.

As your world turns, it engages with countless others. You are energy transferred.
Cogs drive all machines; those of war and those of peace.

But do not forget your talents and do not doubt who you are. Mathematically speaking, you are 1/7 Billionth of the machine of man; 1/319,404,381st of the machine of your nation; 1/2000th the machine of your community and 1/3rd of the machine of your home.....and you are significant.

In a watch, it is the smallest of cogs that moves the hours. Without it, time stands still.
Keep your teeth sharp and your action quick and you will move the world.

How did I get here and why are my hands so dirty?

Oooh, just look at your shoes and how you float above the floor like an Aveda angel. You must spend a lot of time on flat surfaces. I have a pair of heels too...I got them for a wedding, not for work.
You look at me and I see your eyes move over my body. You noticed my unkempt hair. I am sorry about that. I should have taken a moment to brush through the tangles before I came inside. It was a windy morning.
Just look at you! Your skirt is so cute. It's pretty short. You must not have to lean over much. I saw your eyes pause when they reached the stains on my jeans. I wish I could tell you that I am not embarrassed, because I know we are friends.....but I am.
Oh, looks like my hands have come to your attention. Dang it, I know you didn't mean to but you just made the face that says you find them disturbing. I find them disturbing too....I didn't know that I would have hands like these. I washed them as hard as I could before I came here today but the dirt is deep and refuses to fade. I like your finger nails though....especially the color you painted them. I see that you don't seem to have a problem with hangnails. I wish I didn't.
But I brought you a present and I know you are going to like it. Your smile says you are starting to forgive me even though my pantscuffs are dusty and I am leaving a little bit of dirt on the floor from my work boots. I am bringing this to you because I love you. I thought I would be you....but I am me.